'Words move, music movesnOnly in time [...]nnIn the labyrinth of soulnThe internal voice roamsnHe burns the flowers of dreamsnThe time is his alleynTo destroy the youth and arduornWith the words of old mannThey ruin souls of artistnWith unnecessary criticismnnLet the song fly to the skynLet the cold walls crynLet the melody dance with the crowdnLet the song sound through the nightnLet Salome dance tonightnWe will pay the biggest pricenOur souls will reach salvationnOur sound will reach destinationnnTrying to touch the Plenitude in vainnWe create new ideasnThere won't be full satisfactionnPlenitude is a perfect VacancynWords move, music movesnOnly in time, but that which is only livingnCan only die.nWords, after speech, reach into the silence.nOnly by the form, the patternnCan words or music reachnThe stillness (...)n